


The John Shrine

by The_Gay_Infiltrator



Series: 24 Days of Fanfic for Cowgirlchica [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: How Do I Tag, I apologize for the slashes for italics i'm on mobile and shit at technology so, M/M, Referenced military kink, because all the nice girls like a soldier, really the warstan is mentioned in passing, sherlock control yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:12:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9191765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Gay_Infiltrator/pseuds/The_Gay_Infiltrator





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cowgirlchica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowgirlchica/gifts).



John sat up, yawning. He’d never moved out of the house he’d lived in with Mary, even after that fight and the divorce. Sometimes it was difficult to have a friend like Sherlock, since he had made the fateful deduction that Mary was having an affair. He looked around the room, and felt a wave of emptiness wash over him. Maybe he should leave. He sighed and went downstairs. There, what he saw amazed him to no end. He stood there, paralyzed, staring in shock, suddenly extremely aware that he was wearing nothing but his red pants. He was probably the same colour as them, he noted later, but for now all he could think about was the figure standing in his kitchen. The familiar form walked towards John, stopping in front of him. John was vaguely aware of a hand waving in front of his face, and a very familiar voice asking “John?”  
“S-Sherlock? What…what the hell are you doing in my kitchen?”  
“Well, I’m making you breakfast, obviously. What else would I be doing?”  
“I assure you, Sherlock, I have not been drugged.” John said in frustration, embarrassment forgotten because of his irritating former flatmate.  
“Never said you had been.” Sherlock shrugged.  
“Well then why else would you be in my kitchen on Sunday morning making me breakfast?”  
“Did the thought ever occur to you that I was simply making you breakfast?”  
“Oddly, no.”  
“Well, I am.”  
John looked at Sherlock suspiciously for a while, then, suddenly, a thought crossed his mind. “How did you get into my house?”  
“The door.” Sherlock answered vaguely.  
“How, Sherlock?”  
“It’s hardly worth your consideration, John.”  
“Tell me how you got in, or I swear-“  
“I have a duplicate key.”  
“How in-?” John spluttered.  
“Oh please. You think pick pocketing is difficult?” Sherlock scoffed.  
“So you stole my key…”  
“…Made a duplicate of it, yes…”  
“…Then used it to get into my house. Perfectly normal.”  
“What, isn’t it?”  
“No, Sherlock, it’s not!”  
Sherlock ignored the last statement and pushed John into a chair. He set the eggs in front of John and smirked. John stared suspiciously at the eggs for a while, then decided /whatever, I really don’t think Sherlock would permanently harm me/ and started to eat them.  
To John’ surprise, the eggs did not appear to be drugged. He ate them, becoming more and more aware that he was wearing nothing but underwear, eating breakfast that his insane (at least sometimes) flatmate had made him. Maybe he should move back in with Sherlock. He’d never really stopped referring to him as his flatmate.  
“I don’t have any objection to it.”  
“What?”  
“You moving back in with me. And don’t worry about your clothing. It’s fine.”  
“How did you even…? Never mind.”  
“So you’re going to move back in? That should give Mrs. Hudson something to talk about for a long time.”  
“I’m not gay.” John stated defensively.  
“I know.” Sherlock returned dismissively.  
“Would you mind me moving back in?”  
“I already said I didn’t. And I think better when I talk aloud.”  
“What about your skull?”  
“Not the same.”  
“What do you mean, not the same?” John demanded.  
/It doesn’t tell me what I do is amazing and wonderful. That might be number two on the list of things I miss about you./ “Sharing my observations with someone who understands, only slightly, is useful.”  
John sighed, ignoring the insult. “Alright. I’ll move back in with you.”  
Sherlock blinked rapidly, which John knew meant he was pleased. /Why do I know all these strange things about Sherlock?/ John asked himself. He dismissed it as having lived with the detective for years.

:::

John walked into the familiar flat, taking in the strange smell that always seemed to linger, the science equipment, on the table, the general messiness of it, etcetera. He noted to himself that his chair hadn’t been moved, even though he’d been gone for two years. All the memories this brought back… Sherlock teaching him to dance, Mrs. Hudson attempting to get them to kiss under mistletoe, that time Lestrade broke in on a drugs bust (multiple drugs busts), when they both got arrested, and the stag night, to name a few. Even the skull hadn’t moved, and neither had the knife, which held Sherlock’s unanswered letters to the mantelpiece. And the yellow smiley face was still there, grinning out at him with bullet holes in it. Nothing had changed. At all. 

“Sherlock?” he asked, not seeing him in the main room.  
“John?” Sherlock asked, sounding surprised.  
/Why is he in my bedroom?/ John wondered, confused.  
“Sherlock, why are you in my room?” John called, starting up the stairs.  
“No, don’t come in!”  
“Why the hell not?”  
“Because I said so.”  
“Not good enough.” John said, turning the handle.  
He pushed open the door, and stopped in his tracks. What he saw amazed him. The whole room had been left exactly the way he left it, but with one exception. There were pictures of him on the wall, and a pile on the floor. Holes in the wallpaper showed that they too had been on the wall. Also in the pile on the floor was one of his jumpers. So THAT’S where it went! Sherlock blushed and tried to hide the pictures. “Why…why do you have pictures of me tacked to the wall?”  
“J-John! Um…” Sherlock squeaked.  
“Tell me why you did this.”  
John wasn’t angry, just confused, and he had learned that he got a better response from Sherlock if he was bossy. “Do you need to know?”  
“Yes, I do. Tell me now, Sherlock.”  
Sherlock sighed and got up from where he had been stacking the photographs. John didn’t even know how Sherlock got any photos of him at all, but there was a hell of a lot of them. “If you must know, I missed you.”  
“So, what, you did this?”  
Sherlock toed the floor sheepishly. “Look at me.” John ordered, “You wouldn’t do this just because you miss me. I know you better than that. What’s the actual reason?”  
Sherlock tried frantically to find an excuse for tacking pictures of John to the wall because he couldn’t have the real thing, but nothing came to mind. “Oh, I see…” John said.  
“I beg your pardon?”  
“You know, you think I don’t have deductive powers, but I do.”  
“What do you mean?”  
"Idiot." John muttered before grabbing Sherlock by his collar and kissing him.


End file.
